The man spoke through a thin smile, his dead eyes never moving from Lazar:

— A small setback, an accident, easily fixed. You should stay: perhaps it will still happen today, the demolition. You want to stay, don’t you? You want to see the church fall? It will be quite spectacular.

— Yes.

A careful answer and also the truth, he did want to stay, but no, he didn’t want the church to fall and he certainly wouldn’t say so. The man continued:

— This site is going to become one of the largest indoor swimming pools in the world. So our children can be healthy. It is a good thing, our children being healthy. What is your name?

The most ordinary of questions and yet the most terrifying:

— My name is Lazar.

— What is your occupation?

No longer masquerading as casual conversation, it was now an open interrogation. Subjugation or persecution, being pragmatic or principled — Lazar had to choose. And he did have a choice, unlike many of his brethren who were instantly recognizable. He didn’t have to admit that he was a priest. Vladimir Lvov, former chief procurator of the Holy Synod, had argued that priests need not set themselves apart by their dress and that they may throw off their cassocks, cut their hair, and be changed into ordinary mortals. Lazar agreed. With his trim beard and unremarkable appearance, he could lie to this agent. He could disown his vocation and hope that the lie would protect him. He worked in a shoe factory or he crafted tables — anything but the truth. The agent was waiting.

SAME DAY

IN THEIR FIRST WEEKS TOGETHER Anisya hadn’t given the matter much thought. Maxim was only twenty-four years old, a graduate of Moscow’s Theological Academy Seminary, closed since 1918 and recently reopened as part of the rehabilitation of religious institutions.